


Bethinking

by Whimzlogo



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Absolute fluff, Affection, Bonding, Former bitter rivals and reunited brothers goofin, Gen, Good-natured Teasing, Humor, Kayfabe Compliant, Tickle Fights, Tickling, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 02:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whimzlogo/pseuds/Whimzlogo
Summary: "Careful," he said, before he could stop himself."I'm gettin' to that," Dean said, audibly irritated butdefinitely not stopping. "Always thought it was interesting how an area you rely so heavily on is this delicate. This baby's a dangerous weapon, but lookin' at it now... how'd it wreck me up so many times again?"His fingers played along the smooth bottom edges of his partner's bare foot, avoiding dragging his nails as he conducted an examination through touch. Seth was grinning silently by this point, his own fingers white-knuckling the back of Dean's shirt.*Set in 2017, some short time after Seth and Dean won the Raw Tag Team Championships at SummerSlam.





	Bethinking

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to be a part of Ornate Words For, but I'm a teensy bit unsure of how to proceed with that work part-by-part-wise at the moment and I really wanted to get this out— even before I was finished with it. I liked the idea of this being its own work rather than another chapter for that, but I do find that it draws parallels to the longish chapter "Juxtaposed" that's in there, only shorter. I still consider this to be in the same universe as those one shots, with all of that being said.

They were  _champions_ together. Never more in tune with each other. Happy. At peace for the first time in a few years, even if they didn't need making things right with each other to realize that they hadn't been for a long, long time.

Though they both wished in equal measure that they could say it was "just like old times" and nothing had changed at all, it wasn't true in the slightest. Not a bad thing by any stretch of the imagination; they had more accolades and they were wiser. It wasn't the worst trade off for time spent away from one another, even if that time had been spent in all-consuming bitterness and spite.

Time changed things, basically. A month back, they steered clear of each other if fate was merciful enough to keep them apart, with not even a  _thought_  for going after tag team gold— with anyone, but especially not with each other. Now they were in a small locker room in an inner city arena a while away from their cue; to run out there and represent the Raw Tag Team Championship belts, that was. Almost a full two hoursaway. Live event. Ring gear had yet to be thrown on. Albeit, Dean didn't have to change  _into_  or  _out of_  much; he did everything in his standard pair of jeans and whatever tank top or muscle tee suited his mood that day. The shoes he walked into the arena with were the same ones he wrestled in. Not too complicated.

That was never the way Seth rolled, though. He wore casual clothes he had every intention of changing out of, and wore nothing on his feet presently. He couldn't match his brother for this partnership; not unless they donned bulletproof vests and dog tags, and then their course was clear anyway.

Seth knew they only matched souls and little else. (Not that he ever told Dean he thought that.)

He reached into a bag and pulled out a roll of black tape, placing it on the long bench next to him. Dean snatched it up like a bird after a crumb, making Seth hum in surprise before speaking: "You know I actually haven't performed in this arena since before the knee?"

"No?" Dean's interest in the tape diminished. The blissfully unapologetic glint in his eyes died down a bit as he lowered his chin to his chest. "No, you didn't tell me that."

"Yeah. Been awhile. It feels like I saw these walls just yesterday."

Dean gave it some visible thought before beginning to counter, dryly, "Well, technically—"

"I— _yes_ , Dean, technically. But I mean these walls  _specifically_." The haughtiness in his voice came and went; he grinned to take the edge off the snappiness that was never really sincere, expecting Dean to mirror the look... and being put off when he didn't.

"Yeah. I never really talked to you much about that." Dean stood in place, but his arms swung back and forth in idleness. The smallest wrinkle had formed between his brows.

Seth's smile faltered. "What's there to talk about?"

"I dunno. Must've sucked. I didn't care enough to reach out at the time." He meant it more literally than it sounded, Seth knew. "I really... probably should've, 'cause I can't imagine bein' kept away that long."

"You did reach out, man. Didn't matter to me how soon." A sly smirk formed on Seth's face as his recently-moody tag partner sat down on the bench right next to him with an arch to his back and his forearms on his knees. He elbowed the older man in the ribs before saying, with humor, "Granted, it was after  _I_ reached out and you declined... and then I declined  _your_ bump, and then I tried a  _second time_..."

"Stop." Dean clutched at his skull, gently massaging sanity back in through his temples and making Seth chuckle. "We're some... complicated bastards, aren't we?"

"We're the best. Bar friggin' none." He paused just before affectionately ramming his knuckles into Dean's shoulder and threw his whole arm over his broad back instead, casually hugging in a way that definitely had to be relearned. "Besides,  _I'm_ the one who jacked up your- your  _spine_  all those years ago, with the Curb Stomp through the cinder blocks." His face was swept by sudden worry, but Dean was already waving his hand in dismissal.

"Water under the bridge." He knocked off Seth's arm, but it was only to rise partway and lean quickly over, pressing a quick, zealous kiss to the younger's  _nose_  bridge, making his head rock back and his dark brows furrow. "How 'bout we don't do blame?" he suggested, as his partner rubbed at the smooched sore spot between his eyes.

"Sure, man." The hand Seth finally put down sought purchase against his t-shirt, wiping the residual spit Dean left off with a disgusted grimace in place.

"'Sides: it was cool, like I said as soon as I got back from that. Your stomping leg could kick either of my arms' asses." The quirky remark got Seth smiling and humorously shaking his head again in little time. He leaned back on his hands and calmly watched Dean slide off the bench to the floor.

His calmness wavered, however, when Dean went on with, "Does make a guy wonder," and seized his right ankle from the front. His warm hands moved right over the fabric of the pant leg and the hem, and migrated under the naked heel of Seth's foot. Seth's mouth strained at the corners as well-versed fingertips slowly brushed across the sensitive skin farther up, continuously grazing the sole on purpose and running up and down it, thoughtfully dusting.

"Careful," he said, before he could stop himself.

"I'm gettin' to that," Dean said, audibly irritated but  _definitely not stopping_. "Always thought it was interesting how an area you rely so heavily on is this delicate. This baby's a dangerous weapon, but lookin' at it now... how'd it wreck me up so many times again?"

His fingers played along the smooth bottom edges of his partner's bare foot, avoiding dragging his nails as he conducted an examination through touch. Seth was grinning silently by this point, his own fingers white-knuckling the back of Dean's shirt. A short, unstoppable laugh spilled over prematurely not five seconds later; he made no attempt to suppress it. Suppressing was the same as guarding, and he didn't need to do that here.

He saw Dean's face pull into a smile in amused reaction to it. It fell just slightly as he continued: "I figure it's gotta have somethin' to do with just how discerning your nerve endings are. More than the average person's, maybe. They help you make sure you're stomping down exactly where you wanna be. Top notch accuracy." His index finger tapped against the ball of the foot three times to emphasize the last three words, and then it returned to doodle some small zigzags and spirally patterns down the arch to further gauge its sensitivity, drawing out self-evident laughter from Seth. "It's actually pretty sick. It's like it was  _designed_  for combat."

Seth chuckled ceaselessly, clenching up every muscle and trying valiantly (but hardly successfully) to stay still. "It's a curse," he managed to say, right before yelping and snickering behind his hand as an unaccounted finger scritched across the stems of his toes, making them curl in and his whole leg jerk to get clear. Dean held tight and tickled in earnest play, sticking his tongue out briefly.

"You can do it. Brave it," he said, through a laugh of his own.

"No no no, can't do it! Ehe _heehee_!" The older grew tired of being courteous and used all his nails, scraping them against every toe pad at once. Seth thumped him on the shoulder once he recovered. "Dude! Knock it off, man. You know exactly what you're doin' right now." The lilt of laughter still present in his voice took the sharpness out of the order, but he was never really sour to begin with. It felt good to laugh.

Dean looked up at him, roguish smile gone in a flash and eyes devoid of a scheme. "You think I'm stupid, man? 'M'not." A quiet befell them as he fiddled with one of his partner's littler toes, and said partner brought his fist up to his mouth to cope with it, pretending the laughs he was dispensing were coughs. "Although I  _have_ been known to be a lil' moronic."

Seth didn't realize it was his final warning until it was too late to reel back, and all of a sudden Dean's arm constricted his ankle to prevent escape and the padded finger strokes he thought were so  _bad_  were replaced by what felt like the thin teeth of a comb(?!) pressing into and running against the underside of his foot, raking unbearably over every square inch of it with unbending points that were just blunt enough not to hurt, and making him erupt into ridiculous giggling shamefully fast. He immediately jumped into fight mode, falling off the bench and shoving Dean sidelong.

Dean didn't budge much and relinquished the tight hold only briefly to throw Seth's shin under his knees, kneeling on it at an angle to press it into the floor, and tossing away the small plastic comb he pulled from his jeans pocket and only used as a goof to continue tickling with his hands full-time. Seth threw his head back and laughed and fidgeted as the veinier, bonier top of his foot was attacked by his brother's nails.

"Hypothesis doesn't really explain why  _this'd_ be a hot spot," Dean said in guileful nonchalance, as if he was never interrupted from talking about it. His light, careful scratching all the way down became less careful once he reached the tops of Seth's toes, making sure to scribble over them before digging down into the spaces between them. It was too much, and Seth's free knee drove itself  _hard_  into Dean's shoulder blade. His fists aimed two or three punches against the older's torso, and one of them hit just the right pain pressure on his side.

"Motherfff—!" Dean's back straightened out as he winced, and he only loosened his posture when the unpleasant stabbing sensation ebbed. He turned his head around to glare at Seth, whose vision was blurred by tears of laughter, to roughly ask, "Whattaya try'na rupture back there, you lawless arsonist piece of crap?"

"I'm sorry, man." Seth's delirious smile never went away, but he did mean it. The punch had been reflexive.

Dean's angry face softened. It morphed into a look of fake aggrievance as he shook his head. "Wounded.  _Hurt_. I really didn't think you'd get sick of me that fast, man."

"Never." The need to reassure was automatic, but Seth wasn't ready to let the fun moment go yet. Getting provided the means to loosen up and being teased into oblivion felt nice, and he was touched Dean deemed him deserving of it again.

Returning the favor would be a fitting form of expressing appreciation, he thought.

"You wanna make this all about basing tickle spots off keen in-ring senses, though?" he asked, after a plan was quickly formulated. "Which body parts did you say my stomping leg could kick the asses of? Arms, was it?"

He reached up without waiting for an answer, wedging his fingers between his brother's bicep and upper ribs and poking at the shirt-covered armpit Dean had been under no impression he would need to protect up until right then.

He snorted and tilted away from it and snapped the arm in closer, forcing a scowl. Seth's hand followed, barely breaking contact, and the irksome poking became tight, ticklish digging within seconds, clawing fully into the weak spot he knew Dean only hated because of how restrictive it was.

Panicky laughter bubbled out of him and ruined the scowl as he hastily got off Seth's shins and uselessly tried to curl in on himself, worming his free hand into the afflicted area still under fire to try and push the intruding hand out. Doubled over on his knees cackling;  _wheezing_  more than anything. The best.

"Wha? Wait, where'd your voice go, Ambrose? Is something wrong?" He chuckled derisively at the unaimed middle finger Dean kindly sent his way for feigning cluelessness. "Sweet. I'll keep that in mind."

"Ssto-hahah ... aaaagh! This blows, Seth!" He squirmed away from the assault enough to shout it. _  
_

His complaint was heeded. Seth quit early to encompass his brother's waist and drive him down onto the floor with a predacious growl, managing to get ahold of both his wrists with one hand in the tangled confusion and holding them above and away from his body to tickle wherever he liked without getting intercepted. The quavering, laughy hums and writhing, noodly twisting Dean gave him in return cemented the past few minutes as being completely,  _completely_  worth it.

Seth straddled him and pecked around his unguarded abs and side with the free hand, teasing him with his own hypothesis of why  _he_  was so "delicate" in certain places until his playfully flustered best friend was visibly willing himself to sink into the floor out of uncharacteristic embarrassment; hiding his grinning, reddening face behind the hand he freed from Seth's grip instead of fighting back with it, trying not to let his well-meaning attacker see the tears in his eyes.

How he dealt with it didn't matter; he was the most deservedly proud person Seth knew, rivaled by none but comparable to only  _one_  other guy he could think of off the top of his head. Nothing would ever alter that opinion.

"All right, all right. I'm sorry, brother. I'mma menace." Seth relented, smile waning. He tugged at the arm he still held and peeled Dean's hand away from his face, pulling him to sit up. "You're not mad at me, right?"

Dean swayed like he was going to pass out. He tightened a shaky fist... and braced only to fall forward, hiding his still-warm face in Seth's chest. Seth felt and heard a, "Eh," get mumbled into the fabric, right before Dean's fist loosened and a frustrated groan rumbled out of him. 

He roughly scuffed his nails down Seth's side in petty, unforceful retaliation, from the very top of his ribs to his hip bone and then back up again, causing Seth to smirk and squirm minimally for not wanting to move an inch; he wouldn't ever deny his boy a place to hide with him.

Only when the right nerve was brushed and he laughed did Dean stop. It was all he set out to hear in the first place.


End file.
